


The Devil's Here to Stay

by yourinsomnia



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: M/M, Touya can be a dick sometimes, Touya gets a much needed and overdue makeover, doppleganger!Sai, hair fetish, hand fetish (or is it nail fetish? idk), jealous!touya, leatherpants!Shindou (sort of), overuse of the word "inevitable", possessive!Touya, slow burn (my beta told me to put this in), there is smut eventually I promise, this is all for the sake of smut actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7154459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourinsomnia/pseuds/yourinsomnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shindou starts wearing leather jackets and paints his nails black. And Touya, predictably, loses his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Here to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by [this](https://www.facebook.com/YaoAlma/photos/a.486335171429572.111624.485702048159551/486343294762093/?type=3&theater).

It wasn't like Akira didn't expect his rival to go off the rails at some point.

There were all those tell-tale signs after all—the way Shindou would look sometimes after playing a particularly good game, a game he should have been proud of, that _anyone_ would have been proud of—but not Shindou. Shindou looked almost defeated, his triumph robbed of its poignancy by a shadow of some past disappointment. Or the way Shindou would pause in front of blooming trees in mid-spring, and say angrily, “How as it spring again?” as though his words alone could stop the unfurling of fresh, young leaves; or the way Shindou would grip his fan so forcefully at any mention of Shuusaku, or Sai, that Akira feared it would snap and then Shindou’s fingers would follow, both things, the fan and the fingers, getting irreparably damaged as a result.

But just because Akira had expected it, didn't mean that he wasn't furious when it did happen.  

That is how Akira found himself standing in front of Shindou's apartment one day, banging on the door—furious, and also feeling uneasy.

In the past, Akira made a point to avoid Shindou's place. It was entirely too small and artificially devoid of good lighting. Now it was the last recourse available to him—to show up uninvited, unannounced. It was also the only way to match Shindou’s undeniable rudeness of refusing to answer Akira’s calls over a period of several days now.

Five long minutes passed until Shindou finally opened up. His eyes were bloodshot and squinting at the light from the hallway. Behind him was a pitch black apartment and the source of wretchedly sad music.

Akira stormed inside, and after kicking off his shoes, made his way across the studio apartment towards the window. Once there, he raised the blinds, letting the room flood in light for the first time in what seemed like days, if not weeks.

“What the fuck,” Shindou said, rubbing his eyes.

The music was still playing, unacceptably loud now that Akira was inside the apartment. The singer’s voice was raw and scratchy, even breaking off in some parts, and Akira could only conclude that it was a recording of a live performance and the singer was on the precipice of death. Akira looked in the direction from which the music was coming from, commanding with a silent, angry glare that Shindou turn it off. It worked somewhat because Shindou lowered the volume.

“What the hell is going on?” Akira asked, seething.

“What, you can’t tell? I am being sad.” Shindou cleared some space on the couch and sank into it.

Akira wrinkled his nose, looking around the room and noting that the mess was much more catastrophic than he’d originally conjectured. It wasn’t only on the floor. Every single surface of the apartment had fallen prey to clothes and manga and the remains of snacks and cups of instant ramen. Every inch of the apartment was submerged under a layer of something or other save for the goban which stood isolated in a corner.

“What happened? Why are you skipping out on your matches again?” Akira asked, more collected now, though it didn’t make much of a difference. From the way Shindou wasn't looking at him Akira knew that he wasn’t going to get an answer.

“Fine,” Akira gave in.  “Are you _just_ sad or the kind of sad where you need help?”

“Help? You mean like a doctor or a psychiatrist? No way,” he said, his tone when addressing Akira the usual combination of stubborn, infuriating, and nearly teasing. Shindou produced a slight smile too that Akira figured was special effort on his part to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

The smile did nothing to mitigate Shindou's present state. There were circles under his eyes, his hair was sticking out in all directions, the black t-shirt he was wearing was fraught with wrinkles. Akira’s gaze trailed down to the vicinity of  Shindou’s crotch, and then lingered there for a moment too long.

Shindou followed to where Akira was looking and his face flushed in embarrassment. “I haven’t done the laundry in a while,” he explained.

“I see,” Akira said, raising one eyebrow if only to keep the rest of his face straight.

Shindou was wearing boxer briefs with a pattern of ghosts printed on them. The chibi ghosts had their hands thrown up in the air; a text bubble floated nearby that said “boo!”.

"Touya, can you keep a secret?" Shindou asked, leaning over the edge of the couch and looking conspiratorially at Akira.

"That depends on what you’re planning on telling me,” replied Akira knowing exactly where Shindou was going with this.

"They are my lucky charm boxers. I wear them to all of my important matches."

Akira smiled against himself. "If that's one of your tactics—to distract me during our title matches by making me imagine you wearing that, then it's not going to work.”

“Are you sure?” Shindou asked. “I feel like it might work.”

“I will just have to crush you at the Kisei games to prove it, won’t I?” Akira said, and then winced, remembering that at this point Shindou had already been disqualified due to his absence.

“You're coming back to play,” Akira said, making tentative steps to sit next to Shindou on the couch. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Shindou said, pushing a volume of manga off the couch to make space for Akira.

They sat side by side for a while, staring into the black screen of Shindou’s TV.

“Want some ramen?” Shindou asked, stretching.

“Yes,” Akira replied. “But please, do put on some pants first.”

***

Shindou had played in all of his official matches after that, went to all the official events that required him, played with Akira almost daily, and yet. Something was off.

He seemed distracted. Impatient. Like he wasn’t altogether there. Like there was something else pulling at the tides of his mind.

He looked more tired, less inspired, but Akira supposed he did too, and that was just a natural consequence of starting your professional career way too early.

But if the changes to Shindou’s mental state were subtle, and one could argue that Akira had imagined it, then the physical changes happening to Shindou were much harder to deny.

One evening Shindou walked into Touya’s Go Salon wearing a leather jacket.

The jacket looked new, the leather smooth and gleaming in the bright light of salon’s foyer. There were intricate, metal studs on the sleeves that matched the double silver zipper. The front section was cut short just above Shindou’s hipbones and the sleeves clung to his arms

“That’s a nice jacket,” Akira said. What he really meant to say was, “What the fuck are you wearing”, but that wasn’t very Akira-like. Especially when they were still wading the calm waters before the familiar storm of their games.

“Really?” Shindou asked, with an uncertain smile playing on his lips.

“Sure,” Akira indulged him. It was only after Shindou continued smiling when it hit him that Shindou was amused rather than pleased by Akira’s compliment.

It was true that Akira didn’t have the keenest fashion sense, but one would have to be a different kind of oblivious not to notice that something was happening to Shindou. Or rather to his wardrobe.

The bright, go themed t-shirts that Shindou was so fond of wearing were being gradually replaced by darker colors. Shindou also started wearing exclusively black jeans which he paired with black converses. And now, with his bleached bangs and armed with a leather jacket, he could blend into a more colorful Harajuku crowd with the ease of a stray cat disappearing into the night.

***

Despite the progressively worse turns Shindou’s appearance had taken after the leather jacket Akira never mentioned anything again. Mostly because other people did it for him.

Kurata-san struggled to breathe when Shindou appeared one day with his bangs dyed neon blue, a more striking contrast against the rest of his dark hair than his blond bangs ever were.

A few weeks before he turned twenty Shindou pierced his lip. Yashiro, who was staying at Akira’s house for a few days to play some matches in Tokyo, stared at the piercing for so long when Shindou came over, that Akira considered turning over a pot of hot tea on his head.

(At that point no one thought it important to remark on the piercings in Shindou’s ear. Akira wondered if he was the only one who noticed.)

Even _Go Weekly_ managed drop a line or two commenting on the “increasingly flashier appearance of the younger pros.” There was little doubt in anyone’s mind as to who they meant.

Akira didn’t quite see what the Institute had to complain about. Stripped of the piercings, and always donning a suit, Shindou looked half-decent at formal events. He even bleached his bangs blonde at the Institute’s behest for an overseas tournament, though he complained viciously about it after.  

***

The most unsettling change came, however, was when Shindou started painting his nails.

Akira noticed the black manicure soon as Shindou stepped into his house. He didn’t hesitate to grab Shindou’s hands and turn them over several times.

“What’s wrong?” Shindou asked.

“Nothing,” Akira murmured. “Let’s play.”

Transfixed by the interplay of light between the polish and the gleam of the stones, Akira didn’t manage to take his eyes away from Shindou’s nails for the duration of their game.

He had been watching Shindou’s hands for years and they never looked different until now. Everything that was different came into Akira's focus like a slam against the ground after a long, long fall.

The earring curved around his lip that he would twist with his teeth from time to time in moments of acute concentration. His bangs, longer than Akira had ever remembered them to be, had faded into a washed out blond, almost grey, and fell across his eyes. The ripped black tank top revealed more glimpses of skin along his chest and abdomen. The leather pants, which couldn’t really leather because the material looked too soft, rode down so low on Shindou’s hips that every single time he leaned back on his arms Akira could see the sharp angles of his hipbones.

“Ugh, Touya, you almost had this game,” Shindou said, without lifting his eyes from the goban.

“You think so?” Akira asked.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t take that chance in lower right corner. It was so easy.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” Shindou said impatiently. “Look,” and after clearing a cluster from the lower right, he pointed one long, perfectly manicured finger at _komoku_.“And then I would’ve played here, but you could’ve have gone here. See?” Shindou persisted in his demonstration.

Akira saw but didn’t _really_ see because at that point his eyes refused to focus on anything other than Shindou’s fingers. His mind inexplicably preoccupied with supplying him with images of Shindou’s hands doing other things, doing things to Akira, to Akira's hair.

Akira closed his eyes and exhaled sharply.

“Are you paying attention?” Shindou asked, irritated.

Akira opened his eyes. “Yes. It’s simple, I don’t know how I didn’t see it before,” he said and got up.

Moments later Shindou found him in the kitchen. Akira was pouring himself water.

“You seem distracted,” Shindou said.

“I am fine,” he said, and drank a full glass of water.

“Uh, I guess I’m gonna go.”  

“I will call the cab for you,” Akira offered.

“There’s no need, I’ll walk.” Shindou replied.

“Shindou, it’s late. Take the cab.”

Shindou smiled. “You know, Waya is right, sometimes you do act like my wife.”

“Waya can piss off,” Akira said and walked over to the sink. "And so can you."

“Don’t be mad,” Shindou said, coming up behind Akira. “Honey,” he added.

When Akira turned around Shindou was smirking and standing much closer than Akira had anticipated. Akira felt the edge of the kitchen table press into the small of his back.

“Honey?” He repeated, distastefully.  “If you ever call me that again, I’ll have no choice but to strangle you with my bare hands and leave the body to rot in my yard.”

Shindou laughed. “Fine. I promise I won’t call you honey again.”

“Shindou, I’m serious. Get out.”

“Damn, Touya, you’re prickly today. Are you okay? Should we go out for drinks?”

“Drinks?”

“Yes, drinks,” Shindou said, exasperated. “Going out for drinks is what people do. People who have a social lives. People who are not us. But maybe we can be them...For an evening.”

“Interesting,” Akira said, thoroughly confused. In all the years that Akira had known his rival, they had never done something as mundane as go out for drinks. “And where would we go?”

“I know a place in Shinjuku.”

Akira narrowed his eyes at Shindou.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not inviting you to go on some nefarious adventures with me to an underground gambling den or something. But now that you mention, going to a gambling den might be fun. We could win a lot of money. How good can those guys be?” Shindou went on. “Imagine, I emerge from a smoke filled room with a wad of cash, after beating one of their strongest players who couldn’t win against me even when he cheated. The Boss nods to the two bodyguards by the exit to apprehend me because he never planned to part with him money, you see. You stop the game you’re having with one of the fat businessmen as a cover, flip the board to distract the guards and come to my side. Then we fight our way out. I do hope you know some moves. ”

Akira listened to Shindou in silent horror.  And then said, “This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous. Your proposal to go out for drinks seems almost sane in comparison.”

Shindou grinned. “That means we're going?”

He should have said no and stayed home. Took a cold shower and then went to sleep. And then perhaps he would have woken up to a world that righted itself and where Shindou wore normal clothes, didn't paint his nails, and his hands, and all of him for that matter, didn't send Akira's mind on a spiral of indecency. But that was a delusion, of course. Akira’s life would never be normal again, as long as Shindou was in it.

“Well, Touya?” Shindou pressed, taking the chance run his fingers through his bangs.

“Fine, we can go,” he said, and headed for the door.

“For drinks or the gambling den?” Shindou asked, trailing after him.

***

The place that Shindou took him to turned out to be just a billiards bar located in a unmarked basement on a narrow side street. The air inside was stale and infused with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke.

“Hikaru!”

A tall man with exquisitely long black hair approached them. “I’ve missed you. It’s been such a long time since you came,” he said and wrapped his arms around Shindou.

“Ah, yes,” Shindou said, his voice muffled momentarily as he lingered in the embrace. “I came with a friend. Saionji Kyo meet Touya Akira,” he said, pulling away.

“Oh!” The man turned to Akira. “So you're Touya. Shindou talks about you incessantly. I'm elated to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” Akira replied coolly, because he never so much as heard a word about the man.

“I don't talk about Touya. Incessantly,” Shindou said.

“You so do,” Saionji said, grinning.

Saionji was wearing a lot of makeup, Akira noticed with a detached sort of curiosity. Black lipstick, smudged black eyeliner around his eyes. It was not unattractive on the man’s angular, pale face, or unusual for a place they were in. There were lots of young people around them with colorful hair and tattoos, wearing _peculiar_ attire. Akira looked down at his own simple clothes self-consciously.

“It’s always ‘Touya this’ and ‘Touya that’ and I'll never forget the time he screamed at me for not truly understanding what ‘life-long rivalry’ entails.”

By the time Saionji finished talking, an expression of unadulterated dread had settled on Shindou's face.

“Oh my god. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have brought him here,” he said.

Saionji laughed. “Nonsense. Hey, Erika!” He called out to a girl playing pool in the far corner of the room. She didn’t look too happy about being disturbed in the middle of a game, but came over anyway, wielding her cue stick.

She was very tall and very colorful. Her purple hair fell to her shoulders in perfect ringlets, and she wore an incomprehensible amount of different patterns.

Before she even had a chance to speak, Saionji put his arm around her. “Erika, will you be my life-long rival?” he said and bat his eyelashes in a manner he probably considered seductive.

“If by that you mean that we should fuck, then no, thanks. If you mean that we should be rivals in pool then we simply can’t because I  kick your ass pretty easily,” the colorful girl replied.

Akira could hear Shindou chanting, “oh god, oh god, oh god” under his breath.

“You break my heart, Erika. Every single time,” Saionji said.

“You'll live,” she said and turned to Shindou and Akira. “Ah, would you look at that. Is that Touya Akira himself?”

“You too, heard much about me, I presume?” Akira asked glaring at Shindou.

“Hikaru,” Erika said, her eyes raking over Akira. “All you ever did was complain about Touya being insufferable. You skipped the part about him being hot.”

Shindou groaned. "As if Touya needs any more fangirls.”

“Oh, shut up, Hikaru. You're just bitter because I'm not fangirling over you. Got that Kisei title yet?”

Shindou’s lips thinned into an angry line. “Kisei title. And no, but I will.”

“Sure, sure, what is this, your third year trying for it?”

“I’m only twenty. Cut me some slack, will you?”

“Why should I cut you some slack?” she pointed her cue stick into Shindou’s face. “Do you think your opponents will? Do you think you have forever to attain the Divine Move?” She sounded like she had no clue what she was talking about, but was taking immense pleasure in saying it.

Shindou rolled his eyes.

“Right then,” Saionji said, also unimpressed. “I am going to get a beer.”

“Sai, get me one too, please, ” Shindou said.

 _Sai._ The sounds of the bar muted and then rushed back all at once, as the name rang in Akira’s head.

“Sai?” Akira asked.

Shindou’s eyes followed Saionji as he walked away and then darted back at Akira. “That’s not...He’s not...Who you think he is,” Shindou said in a hurried blur. “I swear. He is not Sai. He is just Saionji.”

“Shindou, I heard you, you called him ‘Sai’”, said Akira as his voice rose to dangerous levels.

“It’s just a nickname,” Shindou said, stubbornly.

“But _why_?” Akira insisted.  

“Me too," Erika said raising her hand. “I also would like to know why Hikaru calls Kyo that.”

Shindou spared her a momentary glance, and then re-focused on Akira, his eyes positively blazing, imploring, _Let it go for now..._

“Oh. I think this is where I'm supposed to leave you two alone. Should’ve probably done that before Shindou glared at me. Those social cues, I'll get the hang of them one day,” she said and walked away.

Akira’s hands were clenched into fists, he realized. He attempted to relax them.

“Look, all you have to know is that he’s not that Sai. Saionji never held a go stone in his life. Trust me, I checked,” Shindou said. “The rest of it...Well, I will tell you later.”

“Some day, right? Good thing I'm not counting on it or the anticipation might have already killed me.”

“Touya.” Shindou sighed. “Have a beer and play pool with me.”

Sometimes there was no winning against Shindou. _Too many_ times for Akira’s liking. He took a deep breath, and said, “I don’t know how to play.”

“Good. I'll teach you.”

Shindou was a lousy teacher, Akira found out two games later. Mostly because he took too much joy in winning.

“Damn it, it feels good to be better than Touya Akira at _something_ ,” he said and aimed at the last cluster of balls he needed to score.

“I will concede you appear to be half decent at this pointless game of hitting balls with a stick,” Akira said.

“Don’t trip over yourself with all that praise,” Shindou said and angled for another shot, taking more care this time because the position of the remaining balls was tricky. The concentration slipped some seconds later however, and he said, “Fuck, this music is horrible. Hold it, Touya,” he said and stalked off in the direction of the jukebox.

He took a very long time in front of it. So long, in fact, that Sai or Saionji or whoever the man with too much make up was, had a chance to come up and strike up a conversation with him. They stood there talking and laughing and from Akira’s perspective doing nothing that would actually facilitate the process of picking a song.

“Since your life-long boyfriend abandoned you, how about we play?” Erika offered, coming up behind Akira.

“He’s not my...” he said, feeling a prickling of something that was vaguely like acute loathing for everyone in sight. “Fine,” he said. “'Fine', as in, we can play. Not fine as in...” He stammered. “Shindou is decidedly not...” He stopped.

Erika laughed.

“You aren’t hopeless, Touya-san,” she said mid-way into their game, the honorifics rolling off her tongue like a joke. “You can do better with that grip though.”

She came up to him and leaned over to adjust his grip. Instantly, he was overwhelmed by several sensations—her long hair touching his arms, her fingers over his, her smell—flowery perfume and cigarettes.

Akira instinctively looked up to see if he could find Shindou, who earlier stood nearby and observed their game. It wasn’t relief he felt when he did spot him in the same place, leaning against the wall, looking at them. Saionji, who hadn’t left Shindou's side this whole time, leaned close and whispered something into his ear.

***

“So, uh...Seems like you liked Erika,” Shindou said as they were walking through the night streets of Shinjuku.

There were still what seemed like a million people outside—spilling out from bars and karaoke places, smoking on the sidewalk and hanging out on the corners. A few of them stared at him and Shindou as they walked by. Akira supposed they made an odd pair.

“What?” Akira asked because he couldn’t ascertain if Shindou was drunk. He had only seen Shindou have a couple of beers, but still that was a real possibility considering the absurdity of the question.

“I saw you give her your number.”

“She said I can call her if I’d like more pool lessons.”

“Oh,” was all Shindou said.

“How long have you known them?” Akira asked.

“Uh, it hasn’t been long,” Shindou hesitated and Akira could feel they were broaching the territory of things that Shindou would tell him, but only _someday_ . “I mean, they're cool, even if they don’t know anything about go. I asked Saionji to play with me. It took me twenty minutes just to explain _ko_ and after he’d asked me the same dumb question ten times I gave up on him completely.”

“What does Saionji do?” Akira asked.

“Aside from being a total mess of a human being who hangs out in bars most of the time, you mean?” Shindou said and Akira didn’t miss the affection in his voice. “He works in a clothing store in Harajuku. Where do you think I got all this amazing clothes?” Shindou rambled on, “You are the first person from my go world that I introduced to him... It wasn’t a complete disaster. I guess.” He laughed. “It probably wouldn’t be bad to have everyone in the same place one day. What do you think, Touya?”

Akira found himself with petty thoughts like, _“You barged into my world, chasing me to the end of the line, and our paths became one, inevitable, destined, so why Shindou, why do you say ‘my go world’ as though it is something separate from me, from us; as though it is something that you can give up or ever escape.”_

But said nothing.

***

“No, Touya, your outfit simply won’t do,” Shindou said and dragged Akira inside his apartment.

“So that’s why you insisted I pick you up," Akira said. “To police my outfit. I thought you actually wanted some company on your way there.”

“Well, that too. I did want your company,” Shindou said, teasing or mocking, or both. It was hard to tell when he was in a good mood.

Akira contemplated ruining Shindou’s spirits with a withering look, but decided he could abstain just this once.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” Akira asked.

“As usual, everything,” Shindou said and turned Akira to face the tall mirror by his door.

Akira looked himself over and frowned. He thought his efforts in dressing tonight were rather inspired. He wore all black, which he was sure was Shindou’s favorite color now. Although it was true—he might have looked a bit too official in the sharply pressed pants and a button-down…

Shindou himself wore two layered shirts—black & white _of course_ , grey jeans, and a leather jacket. The same one he’d shown up in at Touya’s Go salon and had been wearing with alarming frequency.

“You're going to a birthday party, not a funeral,” Shindou pointed out, hovering behind him. “Wait here, I have something for you.”

After a few minutes, he came out with a heap of clothes and threw them at Akira. “Try them on,” he said.

“Shindou,” Akira said, mustering up the last of his patience. “I am not going to wear your clothes.”

“Why not? We are practically the same size. I mean, you're taller, but those pants are really long on me. I was going to get them fitted, but isn’t it fortunate that I didn’t yet?”

“That’s not why I am not going to wear your clothes. I am not going to do it because I don’t want to.”

“Okay, if you give me one good reason why not then you won’t have to,” Shindou said.

“It’s not my style and there is absolutely no reason for me to wear your—”

“You don’t have a style and those are not good reasons at all,” Shindou interrupted him.

Shindou’s logic was infallible, _truly_. Akira regarded Shindou impatiently one last time and went off into the bathroom to change. He knew they could stand there arguing for hours, without Shindou budging even a bit, and that’s not exactly how Akira had wanted the evening to unfold.

When he emerged some minutes later, Shindou was on the couch, playing some obnoxiously loud game on a playstation. The instant his eyes caught sight of Akira, however, he dropped his controller and said, “That’s perfect. Touya, you look perfect.”

Akira scowled to keep himself from blushing. “Well, I'm glad you approve,” Akira said. “Now, can we go?”

“Not yet,” Shindou said. “Come this way.”

Shindou guided him towards the mirror again and left him, disappearing into the hallway.

Akira really couldn’t tell how what he was wearing now was an improvement over before. These clothes were black too. Except that every item was extremely tight-fitting, and almost constricting—from the black tank top, to the long blazer with a leather collar, to the black skinny pants that Akira had trouble getting into at first. He didn’t hate the blazer though, he had to admit, putting the collar up a bit. He had never seen that blazer on Shindou before. He would have definitely noticed it because it was a lot more elegant than anything Shindou owned.

A suspicion had taken root in Akira’s mind that these weren’t Shindou’s clothes at all and that he purchased them especially for Akira. He was about to go find Shindou and confront him about the matter, but stopped short when he noticed Shindou approaching with a red tube in his hand. The red tube was instantly recognizable to Akira because it was the hair gel that he had seen Shindou profess his love to many a morning during the various trips they had taken together.

“Shindou, what are you doing?” Akira asked.

“I am going to do your hair,” Shindou said.

“No, Shindou. You are not touching my hair,” Akira said.

“Touya, I am going to touch your hair,” Shindou said, advancing on him. He ended up backing Akira into a wall but before he was able to apply the offending product into Akira’s hair, Akira grabbed his hand and forcefully pulled it down.

They stared at each other for a long while. Akira’s heart drummed in his chest.  

“Can I please touch your hair?” Shindou finally asked. “I am not going to ruin it, I promise.”

Akira really didn’t need to hear Shindou beg to touch his hair while standing so close to him. His eyes bore into him with the intensity and vulnerability that Akira had never seen on him except from across the goban. Shindou’s proximity and pleading eyes were doing inexplicable things to Akira like making his face feel hot—and not only his face, but his whole body too. The heat radiated from his stomach further down. And then the terror kicked in too, pure blazing panic at the possibility of what was going happen if they continued on like this, and how his pants wouldn't stand a chance of hiding it.

Akira closed his eyes and let go of Shindou’s arm.

Taking Akira’s stillness as a sign of acquiescence, Shindou began to work on Akira’s hair by applying a bit of the gell all around his head and sweeping the bangs back. He then proceeded to tussle the shorter strands in the front. Akira didn’t know how long the whole process took but it seemed like a small eternity, during which Akira managed to painfully register every flicker and movement of Shindou’s fingers.

At some point there was a slight pause and then Shindou started combing through the rest of Akira’s hair with his fingers. He was trying to be gentle, Akira could tell, and the sensation of Shindou’s fingers passing through his hair felt as smooth as oars gliding through water. A hypnotic calm settled over Akira and he was almost sorry when the weight was lifted off from his head and the spell broke.  

Akira opened his eyes and asked, “Are you done?”

“Wow, Touya, ” Shindou said, his eyes lighting up with a sort of wonder. “You look different.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t even know,” Shindou said, with incomprehensible notes of distress in his voice.

***

“I think Touya is wearing Shindou's clothes,” Waya remarked when he saw them approach. "Does that mean they are finally having sex?"

“They’re not. Want to bet?” Yashiro chimed in.

“How would you know?” Waya asked, horrified.

“He wouldn’t,” Shindou said, sitting down. “Know.” He’d picked a spot across from Yoshitaka.

Akira never much liked Waya before, but now he absolutely despised him. “Your preoccupation with our sex lives is alarming, Yoshitaka,” Akira said and dismissed him by smoothing out the front of his blazer and taking a seat next to Shindou.

“Your preoccupation with each other is beyond alarming,” Waya muttered.

They were in Shinjuku again. In a flashier, more LGBT-friendly to put it mildly, part of Shinjuku—the infamous Ni-chome. The bar itself was verging on kitschy, from the unfortunate name, _Dragon Men_ , to the decor of the bar that was accentuated by LED lit tables and colorful string lights that hung on the walls, to the loud music that was already reverberating through Akira’s skull—a sure heralding of a headache. There was no doubt in Akira’s mind as to who chose the place. Saionji Kyo was laughing with the waitress, while ordering them all a round of drinks.

Shindou had amassed a rather eclectic crowd for his birthday party.

Even Fujisaki Akari, Shindou’s childhood friend who sometimes came to their matches or go events, was there.

“Cute girl, how did you get mixed up with all these nerds?” Erika said, her voice loud enough to be heard by everyone at the table, and perhaps a table over.

Fujisaki-san giggled. “I’ve known Hikaru forever. Before he was a go nerd.”

“Well, I’m sorry that our lot isn't glamorous enough for you," Shindou snapped.

“No worries, Touya-san is plenty glamorous for me,” Erika all but purred.

“You wouldn’t think so if you saw him in one of his suits. You have me to thank for his dashing looks tonight, really,” Shindou said.

 _“Dashing looks_?” Akira whispered into Shindou’s direction, although it came out more like a hiss.

“The fact that Touya manages to have so many girls fawn over him while he wears those suits has gotta be the greatest mystery of the go world,” Waya said.

“Surely,” Akira said, still vaguely distracted by Shindou’s earlier remarks about his looks, but not enough not to drip ice into his voice, “Sai and his connection to Shindou is a greater mystery than that?”

“Touya. Waya,” Shindou warned them. He looked visibly uncomfortable, but Touya didn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse for him. After all, this  gathering was his idea

“Happy birthday, Hikaru,” Saionji intervened. “Kampai!” He submerged a shot of sake resting top a pair of chopsticks into his beer glass by banging on the table, prompting everyone else to do the same.

Except Akira. He looked down at his sake bomb contraption and carefully set aside the sake.

Shindou was laughing at something Fujisaki was telling him.

Akira had never given it much thought before, but Erika had a point—Fujisaki was cute. Not in a childish way some Japanese girls were even well into their thirties, but in that effortless way that set your mind at ease when you were around her. She was the kind of girl you wanted to make smile. Even Waya was stealing surreptitious glances her way.

Akira played with the sake glass in his hands for a few moments and then drank it all one draft.

Meanwhile, Shindou was invading more and more of Akira’s personal space. Their legs were pressed against each other under the table. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Akira took off his blazer and placed it on his lap. The unusual weight of it reassured him that what he’d hid away in his inner pocket was still there.

A few seconds later, he caught Shindou staring at him. Belatedly, Akira realized that the tank top left his arms quite exposed. He reached for another sake shot.

Shindou was still looking at him after Akira had put down the glass. “These clothes do look good on you,” Shindou said. “You should keep them.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I? Seeing as how you bought them for me.”

“So you like them too,” Shindou smirked. “Should we go shopping together tomorrow for more?”

“What a brilliant idea,” Akira replied, sarcastically. “I am really considering investing in a pair of leather pants.”

Shindou laughed. “Too bad you’re joking. You would look great in leather pants.”

Shindou’s vivid smile, and his words _together_ , _tomorrow_ , sent Akira’s head spinning. Shindou was still looking at him and leaning in, his arm brushing against Akira’s skin. With one hand, Shindou gripped a perspiring glass of beer. Shindou’s long fingers left marks on the glass. There were so close, Akira could smell the alcohol on him, his cologne, his hair gel.

 _Inevitable_ , _inevitable_ , _inevitable_ , is all that raced through his mind in that moment.

“What, more shots?” Waya griped loudly.  Saionji was approaching their table with a tray of colorful cups.

“Of course,” Saionji said, distributing the shots all around the table. “We're just starting.”

“What is this?” Yashiro asked, sniffing the peculiar blue contents of his cup.

“Jello shots,” Saionji said. “You squeeze them out and just swallow them. Everyone has one?” Alright, happy birthday, Hikaru,” he said and then kissed him on the cheek.

It was a playful gesture. No one paid attention as they were focused on squeezing out the jello. It probably didn’t mean anything. Except Shindou was smiling like an idiot.

Akira’s stomach twisted into knots. He looked down at the cup in his hand and the red jello inside. He didn’t understand what it was for. Nothing made sense. _Why was Shindou smiling so much? Why was he smiling so much at everyone who wasn’t Akira?_ The world stopped making sense, and it almost felt a like that day Shindou had walked into Touya's Go Salon, and destroyed Akira in shidougo with his childish, shaky hands.

Akira learned since then that things which didn't make sense had the capacity to never make sense again.

He watched Shindou struggle with squeezing out his jello and then splutter. “All I taste is alcohol,” he said.

“That’s the point,” Saionji replied, smiling and putting his arm around Shindou.

It didn’t escape Akira’s notice that Shindou did not call Saionji by his nickname the whole evening. Still, when he’d introduced everyone to each other, Waya’s gaze lingered on Saionji for some time and then he asked him, “You don’t happen to play go, do you?”

“No,” Saionji replied. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Doesn’t Saionji sound like...” Waya persisted.

“It doesn’t,” Shindou cut him off.

Erika smirked at that but kept quiet.

Akira looked at her now and noticed she was smirking again. Perhaps it was her default facial expression when surrounded by Shindou and his ilk.

“Touya-san, you are not drinking anymore?” she asked.

“I think I need a break,” he said.

Sai’s arm was still around Shindou. Shindou was still smiling.

Akira got up and walked through the bar, pushing people out of his way, past the people crowding the staircase, past the line outside, across the road, until he was alone.

But it wasn’t for long because Erika followed him.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He slumped against the wall, willing the nausea to go away.

“Yes,” he said, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He’d never been sick from alcohol before. But there had to be a first time for everything, he reasoned.

“You know, Kyo is just a flirt. He’d always been,” she said, taking out a cigarette.

“Don’t,” Akira said.

“Don’t what? Be here? Talk to you? Mention Sai?” she asked, lighting up a cigarette and inhaling the smoke, shadows playing across her sharp features.

“All those things,” Akira replied.

“Fine, enjoy brooding by yourself,” she said and stomped a few paces away from him. She then leaned against the wall as well, blowing smoke into the foggy September air.

Something must have been really wrong with him because he generally wasn’t rude to people who weren’t Shindou.

“I’m sorry,” he said, coming up to stand next to her. “I’m going for a walk."

“Good idea." She nodded.

He turned and was about to walk. Then stopped and turned to face her again. “Would you care to join me?”

They walked a couple of blocks, along the busiest streets of Ni-Chome before ducking into a less chaotic part of Shinjuku. Most of the restaurants and shops were already closing, expelling the drunk, rowdy crowds into the sidewalks.

“You’ve made a wise choice asking me along, Touya-san,” Erika said.

“Oh?” He asked absentmindedly.

“We are in Shinjuku and you’re wearing tight pants. Or do you like getting hit on the streets?” she inquired and then inexplicably, linked her arm with his.

He didn’t resist, but asked, “Do you ever keep quiet?”

“No, but I’ll make an effort for you.”

“Thank you,” he said and they walked.

Erika kept her promise and was quiet most of the way. Until she started humming.

“Is this not keeping quiet?” she asked when she caught him looking.

“It’s fine.”

The sound of her voice was strangely soothing. As was the weight of her hand on his arm.

“Well, are you not merciful,” she said and continued humming.

It was drizzling throughout the day earlier but now light fog had settled like a soft filter of a camera, making the edges of every building fuzzier. Akira couldn’t see far into the distance and it felt like they were going nowhere at all.

It wasn't long before they turned back.

Once they were nearing the bar, Erika gripped his arm, “Look.” He followed her gaze and saw Shindou standing some distance off. Saionji was nearby too, smoking a cigarette.

“You!” Shindou said when Erika and Akira walked up to them. “Where have you been?”

“Walking,” Erika said.

“Well, we're here now," Akira said.

Shindou looked down at Erika’s hand, still wrapped around Akira’s.

“Actually,” Akira spoke, breaking free from her grasp. “I will have to excuse myself. It’s late and I do have a shidougo session early in the morning,” he explained with a tone of profound politeness. A tone that Shindou would not be able to read anything into.

“Oh,” Shindou said, hand jerking up to smooth back his long bangs.

Saionji stubbed out his cigarette against the brick wall, watching Shindou carefully.

“Do you want me to walk you to the station or wait for the cab with you?” Shindou asked.

“No,” Akira said firmly, “You have guests to attend to.” He turned and walked away.

For a moment he thought he heard footsteps following him, but it was just an echo of his own mind feverishly spinning around Shindou, the events of the evening, and the mantra— _Shindou doesn’t belong to me_. He would repeat it to himself a thousand times over until it stuck, until it didn’t burn a hole in his heart.

***

Akira woke up to the smell of Shindou. He’d made the crucial mistake of not washing his hair before he went to bed and now his pillow smelled like Shindou’s gel.

He didn’t leave his house the whole day. It was a blessing his parents made sure to stock their pantries with instant ramen before they left on their trips because Akira couldn’t be bothered to go out for any reason whatsoever.  

He cancelled the shidougo session. That morning his cellphone rang nonstop, but after the eleventh ring he turned it off. Not that would save him from Shindou coming down to his house, eventually. But it did save him from polite conversations with his parents.

In the evening of the second day, Shindou showed up.

“Why is your phone off?” Was the first thing Shindou said. “The Institute's been trying to get a hold of you. They need you to go to Hong Kong for a convention.”

“That’s why you are here,” Akira said, holding the door of the gate open but not letting Shindou in.

“Yes. I mean, no. You walked out on my birthday party,” he argued. “You walked out before the cake,” he added gravely.

Akira resisted slamming the door in his face.

“Look, I don’t want you to misunderstand. There’s nothing between me and…”

“Stop,” Akira said and maybe it was the look he’d given Shindou, because the idiot did stop talking.

But only for a moment. Because then he spoke again, “Are you going to let me in or not?”

Akira did, reluctantly, and then some minutes later they were sitting in Akira’s kitchen, Akira sipping tea and watching Shindou drum his manicured fingers against his a white tea cup.

Sometimes Akira wondered if only his world was made up entirely of contrasts.

“I guess I should—”

“I'm sorry—”

Their voices died off together.

Akira held his gaze steady against Shindou’s, but this was unfamiliar territory.

One of the first things that Akira learned about go was that every move you place on the board has to serve a purpose. The move should either defend, attack, place a trap, mislead, or connect. And it was his father who’d taught him to apply the same principle to his behavior.

_“Every word you speak, every action that you do that affects another person has to carry weight and have purpose.”_

He didn’t know what he wanted to achieve with his words. He didn’t know what he wanted from Shindou. Even if he did...even if he could somehow formulate his thoughts, he couldn’t possibly ask that of him.

“Play me,” Akira said to Shindou because at least that was still familiar.

His choice of words was deliberate too. It wasn’t his polite, “How about a game?” reserved for strangers, for anyone but Shindou. It wasn’t their usual “Let’s play”—a proposition of mutual benefit. It wasn’t even the urgent, “A game, _right now_ ” after they haven’t seen each other in a long time, or an angry, “ _Another one_ ” after an argument.

It just was just that, _Play me._

They went into the playing room and sat down in front of the goban.

“I have something for you,” Akira said before they started.

When he returned, Shindou was fidgeting, hands going through his hair, turning it into a complete mess.

Akira slid a pile of neatly folded clothes on the tatami floor between them.

“Thank you for these,” Akira said.

“They are yours. Keep them.”

“I kept the blazer,” Akira said. It was a compromise and Shindou accepted it with a nod.

“There is something else…” Akira said and placed a tiny box on top of the clothes.

“Touya...You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t have to. But I did. So shut up and open it.”

The bracelet was silver, like most of Shindou's jewelry, with a chain so small and intricate it wouldn’t stand out. Its only distinctive feature were the two go stones—black and white —that moved freely on the chain.

“Do you like it?” Akira asked.

It took Shindou a few moments to fasten the bracelet around his wrist. When he was done, he stuck his hand out to scrutinize it. Then he smiled. “I like it. I like it a lot, Touya,” he said, grinning at him.

It was too distracting the way Shindou was looking at him, smiling at him. The awareness of anything else except that smiled slipped. And so he had to shut his eyes for a second to compose himself.

“I’m glad. Happy birthday, Shindou,” Akira said, opening his eyes.

“That's the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Shindou said, the grin morphing into a light smile.

“That can’t be true,” Akira retorted, his voice more petulant than he’d intended.

“Oh, but it is. It is.”

They played after that, and it was a lot more effusive than any of their usual games.  

“Holy shit, Touya, who would have thought that you actually had taste,” Shindou said, as he put down a stone into a _tsuki_ and the silver flashed on his wrist.

Presumably he was talking about Akira’s gift.

“Fuck you,” Akira said, without much fire in his voice. He’d compensated with a vicious slam. _Atari_ on the _tsuki_.

Shindou went still for a moment, his eyes turned dark. Akira regarded him curiously.

It wasn’t as though that was the first time Shindou had heard Touya curse.

“Sure, when?”

It was Akira’s turn to freeze.

“What?” Akira asked slowly, hoping this wasn’t going where he knew this was going.  

“When would you like to fuck me?” Shindou asked, casually and placed a stone down. Extending, avoiding Akira’s _atari_.

Akira could have laughed in that moment. Or he could have punched Shindou. But instead he arranged his features into a semblance of impassion and said, “Right now. Over the goban.” And slammed another stone down, now in upper left. _Atari_ again.

Shindou was the first one to break. He laughed. “Fuck Touya, you’re a kinky bastard. First time over a goban? I don’t have the guts for it.”

He’d played somewhere else and Touya captured his stone.

“Clearly,” Touya said, relieved.

Akira was sure he was blushing. It had become a habit to tuck away his hair behind his ears when he was embarrassed. He’d done it again now, not really aware of it until Shindou’s gaze caught him off-guard and made him stop dead in his tracks as his hand hovered by his ear.  

Shindou watched him and then slowly, with the focus of someone building a tower of cards, leaned over the goban and reached behind Akira’s ears to untuck his hair. It was as soothing and gentle as the time Shindou had worked his hair.  

“Your hair...It’s longer now,” Shindou said. There was a softness to his voice, to his eyes. There was something else too.

Akira had never felt as close to Shindou as he did in that moment. But there was still the distance of the goban between them.

In the end, Akira lost by half a _moku._

***

Akira ended up going to the Hong Kong Go Convention two weeks later, with Shindou accompanying him, though not in any official capacity. “I need a vacation,” he insisted. Akira could not imagine how tagging along to all of Akira’s panels and workshops constituted as “vacationing” in Shindou’s mind, but he didn’t complain.

On the last day of the trip, Akira’s brain was burning up from all the games he’d played, and all the talks he’d done at panels, in Mandarin no less, which was better than his Korean, but a lot worse than his English, and he was so exhausted that the only thing he could do once they got to their hotel room in the evening, was to fall on the bed and lie there motionless for an indeterminate amount of time.

“Hey, that’s my bed,” Shindou said, coming out of the shower in a white bathrobe, toweling his hair.

“Don’t care,” Akira said.  

“Fine.” Shindou lied down next to him on the bed.

They stayed like that for some time, listening to the cars passing in the distance outside their tall hotel windows.

“Hey you…” Shindou said, his voice quiet. “You’re going to fall asleep. You should go take a shower. Or take off your clothes at least.”

Akira gave a noncommittal response, but did manage to pull off his tie, which he’d loosened earlier and thrown on the floor.

He shifted on his back to get into a more comfortable position and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Let me do it,” Shindou said and Akira’s fingers went still. He heard the rustle of cotton sheets as Shindou moved closer to him, and then felt Shindou’s hands on his chest, working down the row of buttons. Akira’s own hands fell to his side helplessly.

“Shindou, you do realize how suggestive this is?” Akira asked. “You on top of me, unbuttoning my shirt.”

“Really?” Shindou was smirking.

Akira didn't feel so exhausted anymore. He felt weightless, his body tingling with anticipation.

He grabbed Shindou’s hand. “Your nail polish.”

“What about it?” Shindou asked.

“It’s chipping.” Akira brought Shindou’s hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it.

Shindou’s eyes widened, his breath hitched.  “What are you doing?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Shindou said and closed his eyes.

Akira kissed his fingers. First the index finger, then his middle finger, and onwards. He took time with each finger, each calloused tip. He tried biting too, gently. Shindou moaned in response. Feeling encouraged, Akira licked the tip, and then whole finger, and then he was outright sucking on his finger, letting his tongue slide across the length of it, his teeth scrape the skin just a bit.

Shindou let out another moan and then his eyes snapped open, face acquiring that look he sometimes had when he was about to make a reckless move on the board and he wasn’t sure it was going to work but he was going for it anyway.

There was no hesitation when he pulled Akira closer, propping his head with one hand so that they were more level with each other. He traced the finger that just a few moments ago was in Akira’s mouth down his chin, tilting Akira’s face forward.  Akira could only think of the nail polish, how it looked against his skin, and felt dizzy from the surge of arousal. He gripped Shindou’s shoulders to steady himself just as the other boy leaned in to kiss him.

It was less kissing and more a clashing of lips and teeth and tongue, Shindou’s lip piercing grazing against his skin, almost cutting him. It hurt, but it was a sweet, heady pain.

They kissed for a long time. Or maybe it wasn’t very long, Akira couldn’t quite tell. He never imagined it would feel so effortless, _inevitable_ —the word was like a thread that stitched him to Shindou. And when, for some reason, Shindou’d pulled away from him, the disappointment, caused by the absence of his mouth, his heat and wetness, was instant and acute.

But Shindou had only pulled way to finish what he started before. He proceeded to rip the two buttons of Akira’s shirt that he didn’t manage to undo before. His hand swept over Akira’s now exposed chest and stomach before taking off Akira’s pants and socks with even more urgency. His hands hovered over Akira’s boxers.

Akira gave him a slight nod of approval and those were gone too.

“Beautiful,” Shindou murmured, pulling back, his eyes sweeping across his body. “I knew you would look beautiful like this.”

“You knew or you imagined?” Akira’s question came as a whisper.

“Both,” Shindou replied and leaned in to kiss him.

“Tell me…” Akira implored, his words threatening to turn into incomprehensible moans, “how you imagined me.”

“Just like this,” Shindou replied against his skin, biting, kissing. “Naked and willing under me. So fucking gorgeous.”

Akira’s erection pressed against Shindou’s leg where his robe rode up to reveal skin. He couldn’t help but move into that contact, creating friction that sent sparks throughout his whole body. All the while Shindou kept kissing him, alternating between his neck, his ears and his mouth, coaxing it open, biting his lips, taking him apart piece by piece.

“Fuck, Shindou.”

He heard Shindou laugh softly against his ear. “Except in my fantasies, you don’t have such a dirty mouth,” and then he kissed said mouth. Akira heard himself moan against the kiss, like he was going to come just from this, just from Shindou talking.

“You don’t like it?” Akira managed, trying to reign in some control on his head, his senses.

“I love it, I fucking love everything about you,” Shindou said. Shindou and his brutal straightforwardness. Akira never realized until this moment, how much he loved that about Shindou in return.

“Shindou, please…” Akira was reduced to begging, and he didn’t mind it. No, he enjoyed it, he realized, all of it—the begging, the disintegration of his mind and senses, the mess that Shindou turned him into.

The front of Shindou’s robe had come undone from all the movement between them. Now they were both naked—sticky skin pressed against skin, Shindou’s erection digging into Akira’s stomach.

Shindou groaned into his ear, his hands reaching down to touch Akira. A few strokes is all it took and Akira was coming in shudders and pushing deeper into Shindou’s embrace, one arm wrapped around his neck, another holding on to the bed, until like it felt like he was going to break him or maybe both of them.

It took him a minute to come to himself. When he did, he saw that Shindou had pulled away from their embrace, towering over him, watching him.

Shindou was always more bone and skin than muscle, but in that moment he looked imposing. With his lips swollen, messy hair, naked except for the robe sliding off his shoulders and the bracelet that Akira had given him. Shindou looked wild, manic, and he was beautiful.

There was something else too that made Akira let out a faint gasp.

An enormous blotch of black ink around the right side of Shindou’s waist, just below his ribcage.

“When did you get it?” Akira asked, as he Shindou on his back. Akira’s fingers reached out to touch it.

“Not too long ago,” Shindou replied.

It was a tattoo of a river, flowing and curving all round Shindou’s waist, forming the symbol of infinity. There were numbers and words in each stroke of the current. A dragon, almost as large as the rest of the tattoo looped around the lower “o”.  The dragon’s head was turned towards the onlooker, fangs bared and eyes flashing.

Akira traced the dragon with his fingers, and Shindou shivered under his touch. His hand drifted up, through the curves of the rivers, along numbers and letters. His fingers stopped at the kanji for Sai, his hand trembling.

“Touya,” Shindou said, taking his hand and pulling him closer.

They kissed as feverishly as before, Shindou’s lip ring scraping his skin, a metallic taste spreading over Akira’s tongue. He was bleeding. Shindou’s hand clutched at Akira’s hair, and Akira moaned at the unexpected pleasure of it.

He wanted Shindou pulling on his hair more, so he went down, taking Shindou into his mouth. He schooled his movements to the same things Shindou had done to his fingers. It seemed to be working. Shindou moaned and gripped Akira’s hair harder, thrusting and writhing against Akira’s mouth. When he came, he pulled on Akira’s hair hard enough that he thought it would rip from his scalp. The pain and the pleasure had mixed so fully, it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

Akira thought it was the most spectacular thing anyone had ever done to him.

Shindou tugged Akira close and they ended up lying on their sides, pressed up against each other. Shindou’s chest rose and fell against Akira’s back.

“We should take a shower,” Akira said.

“Yes,” Shindou said softly into his ear.

“We should also turn on the AC,” Akira said.

“Yes,” Shindou said and continued to lay there.

***

When they finally emerged from the shower, both in their robes, hair wet and faces flushed, Shindou immediately demanded food.

“Room service,” Akira said, flinging the menu at him.

“It’s expensive,” Shindou complained.

“Well, it’s a good thing I am rich then,” Akira replied, his robe falling off his shoulder, exposing his chest and stomach. They _still_ hadn’t turned on the AC.

“And shameless,” Shindou said. He picked up the phone to order the food, his gaze never leaving Akira’s body.

He ended up ordering more food than anyone could ever hope to finish in a single day, let alone in an evening. While they waited for it to arrive, Shindou discovered the room’s mini-bar and convinced Akira to open up a bottle of wine.  

They went through half of it by the time the food came.

“We might need another bottle,” Shindou said. They were sitting on the floor by the window, eating, drinking, watching the lights and the traffic of Hong Kong glimmer outside.

“Although I am rich, Shindou, I do hope you realize that we are basically throwing our money down the drain. These bottles are triple the price of what they should be.”

“I know. That’s half the fun. Don’t you feel opulent?” He leaned in to kiss him before pulling away at the last moment with a teasing smile.

Akira set his own food aside, before taking the plate from Shindou’s hands. He moved forward into Shidou’s lap, sat on top of him and kissed him hard.

“So,” Shindou said when they’d pulled apart, breathless. “I didn’t know you had a hand fetish.”

“I don’t have a hand fetish,” he said, and kissed Shindou’s neck.  “Well, maybe I do. But only your hands.”

“I don’t mind,” Shindou replied. “Besides, I might have a hair fetish,” he said, reaching out stroke Akira’s hair.

After they finished the food and wine, they didn’t move from their spot by the window. They just sat there, side by side, without saying a word. Akira wondered if this was part of their plan to stay up or if they just both had too much on their mind and needed to stay like this for a while.

“What are you thinking about?” Shindou asked much later.  

“Your tattoo,” Akira replied.

“Oh,” he said. “It’s a river. ‘River of Life’, my tattoo artist called it.”

“And the dragon?"

"That dragon..." Shindou trailed off.

"Fine, don't tell me," Akira said when Shindou never finished that thought.

“Touya,” Shindou whispered.

“Don’t you think it’s time we start calling each other by our first names?” Akira said, standing up.

Shindou stood up as well. “Okay, _Akira_ ,” Shindou said. “Why are you angry all of the sudden?”

“I am not angry,” Akira said.

“I want to tell you everything, about Sai and the tattoo—”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Akira interrupted.

“—But I don’t know how,” Shindou finished.

This conversation had became pointless. Akira desperately wanted it to stop.

He walked over to the hotel bed, his _own_ bed this time and wrapped himself in blankets.

Shindou remained by the window. There was a long silence during which Akira thought maybe Shindou was going to let it all end like that—with Akira falling asleep and Shindou joining him later, when he’d had enough of sulking by the window. But eventually Shindou spoke, his voice like a sudden gust of wind, pulling Akira back from near slumber.

“You must have figured it out by now that it was Sai who taught me go. He was my teacher...And he was my friend. But one day he disappeared. Three years later I found him walking down the street. Just casually walking past me. I followed him into a bar and confronted him, but he pretended not to know me. A week later, I realized he wasn’t pretending. It wasn’t him. Just someone who looked like him. Exactly like him. It was like some sick cosmic joke. It was hard to accept that it wasn’t him…”

“When was this?" Akira asked, sitting up on the bed. "Wait...that time, I found you in your apartment?

Shindou nodded. “Saionji thought I was a weirdo at first. I guess I grew on him eventually.”

“But, how could it not be him?” Akira asked, with a sinking feeling. “People don’t just disappear. And the name...”

“Do you really think I don’t know how strange all of this is?”

Akira paused for a moment, and then spoke with renewed conviction, “Shindou, it _has_ to be him.”

“It’s not him!” Shindou snapped. “Sai would never give up go. You have no idea what it meant to him. And besides…” Shindou’s hand ran through his bangs. "Nevermind. It’s not him.”

Akira got up from the bed and came up to stand next to Shindou. "They say there is at least one copy of you out there,” Akira said, looking at his reflection interposed on the night sky and the city lights in the window's glass.

"Do you seriously believe that?" Shindou asked.

"No," Akira said, turning to look at him.

"I bet you don't believe in ghosts either," Shindou said.

"Ghosts?" Akira asked, searching his face. "Only the metaphorical kind."

"Good," Shindou said and took his hand. "Come to bed."

***

A few days after they were back from the Hong Kong trip, Akira received a call from an unknown number.

"Touya-san, meet me for coffee," Saionji said from the other end of the line.

Akira didn't take kindly to invitations that were difficult to refuse. He wanted to refuse on principle alone, but the curiosity of what the man had to say overpowered in the end.

"I am free next Sunday after two pm. Text me the name of the place where you would like to meet," Akira said and hung up.

The place Saionji chose was a bakery shop in Shibuya. When Akira arrived, Saionji was already holding a cup of coffee, slouched back in his chair, smiling faintly at the groups of young, beautiful women who populated the place.

"Touya-san," he smiled, all teeth. In the daytime, Saionji didn’t wear any makeup, though he eyes seemed even darker on his pale face.

"Thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet me," Saionji said.

"It's fine," Akira replied, taking his seat across. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Who said I want to talk to you about anything? I just said I want to meet you for coffee. Speaking of which, let me get you some."

Akira protested because he didn't envision himself staying for that long, but Saionji ignored him and went to get it anyway. He came back some time later with a mug of the darkest coffee Akira had ever seen.

"You knew I take my coffee black," Akira said.

"I figured." Saionji shrugged. "The blueberry green tea mousse in this place is divine. You should try it."

Akira stared at him.

"Their strawberry shortcake is not bad, though they do go heavy on the cream," Saionji continued.

"The tiramisu is awful. Don't ever get it.”

Akira carefully took a sip of his coffee. It was too hot still and scalded his tongue.

"Hikaru told me once that I look like someone he knew," Saionji said. "I think it was someone important to him. Very important," he added, thoughtfully.

Akira put down his mug and frowned realizing some of the coffee spilled.

"But he wasn't someone Shindou was in love with," Saionji spoke again.  He’d dropped his politeness. His lips formed a rigid line, his eyes flashed with inexplicable tension. There was a fierceness to him that Akira couldn’t imagine he possessed. He looked like a different person altogether.

_He was my teacher...and a friend._

“No, he wasn’t,” Akira said, meeting Saionji’s gaze.

"And in any case, I am not that person," Saionji said.

"What are you trying to say?" Akira asked.

"Nothing," Saionji said, and then smiled at someone behind Akira. Akira turned around and saw a woman smiling back at them, with a toddler on her lap.

"Actually," Saionji said, "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" Akira asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice and failing.  

"For wreaking slight havoc at Hikaru’s birthday, so to speak," he said, looking at Akira this time.

"You didn't...It’s fine,” Akira said.

"And for doing it on purpose."

"Oh?"

"And I won't deny that Erika wasn't in on it.”

Akira stayed silent for a moment and then asked, “What does she get out of it?”

“You mean, aside from the pleasure of tormenting Shindou?” A ghost of a smile played on Saionji’s lips. “She meant well. She likes the kid. And so do I. But you have to understand that we were driven to desperation. You try being Hikaru's friend while he has a crush on someone. It's exhausting."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it got worse after he introduced us. ‘Hey Sai, what do you think now? Does Touya like men? He was looking kind of weird at Erika when she was in that dress, didn’t he?’”

"And,” Akira said, tapping away at his scalding mug. “What did you say to that, _Sai_?”

"Well, I told him, “‘From the way Touya acts it hard to tell whether he likes men, women or neither, but I think it’s pretty obvious he likes you, so stop being an idiot.’"

"Shindou is an idiot,” Akira agreed.

"Maybe less so now," Saionji said and reached over to touch the bruised spot just below Akira’s lip, where Shindou’s piercing had grazed him.. Akira jolted at the contact.

Saionji laughed. “You aren’t even trying to be conspicuous about it.”

Akira felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. _Why should we?_ He thought. _Shindou is mine and I am his._

They finished their coffee quickly after that and walked out together. As Sai turned to go, his long hair momentarily caught in the wind and flared up into the sky.

Akira watched his figure retreat. There was something about him that triggered an unidentifiable memory. Like a smell that brought back a childhood memory, vivid and obscure all at once.

He couldn’t place it though, and it _couldn’t be_ because he’d never met him before.

_Or did he?_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, [mio-chan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mio_chan/pseuds/mio_chan) for a read-over and the encourgaement that some people will actually read leatherpants!Shindou. 
> 
> Endless love to [derogatory](http://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory) for being an amazing beta (if you see mistakes, they are my own, and she had nothing to do with it!), and also for incredibly hilarious comments that I only wish I was able to publish along with the story. Sorry for subjecting you to so much go! <3 
> 
> The sad song that Shindou listens to in the beginning is Dir En Grey's live recording of [Zakuro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aEqdg_HQttg) and wow, is it sad. 
> 
> A sequel featuring the return of chibi-ghost underwear potentially to come.


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